


Footsie

by DexxxtroDNA



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Consensual Sex, Established Relationship, Fade to Black, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Other, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DexxxtroDNA/pseuds/DexxxtroDNA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl, of all mechs, gets a bit distracted at an officer's meeting.</p><p>What the others don't know is there's some things going on underneath the table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Footsie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MlleMusketeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleMusketeer/gifts).



> I wrote fluff to cheer MlleMusketeer up. ^_^
> 
> This could read as sticky, pnp, tactile, sparks, or whatever else is your choice. :)

"Let's bring this meeting to order," said Prime.

All of the other officers were already settled in around the table. Attention focused on the agenda packet Prowl beamed over the comms.

First up was addressing the ongoing energy shortage, allocation of rations, prospective sources of energy for the fuel converters, and defending those outposts from Decepticon raids.

Prowl felt a field edge very slightly closer to his own.

The second order of business involved the most recent prank war that had erupted, naturally, between several of the younger members of the _Ark_ crew. It had spread to include other Autobots after several thousand bouncy balls exploded down the main lift and into the barracks.

"Jazz," Optimus Prime said, with that disappointed tone that made mechs feel worse than if he yelled at them. "While I appreciate the motivations behind your efforts to stop the prank war, I cannot approve of your methods." The head of Special Operations slunk down in his seat. It didn't help that his processors were just built to find that sort of situation - and surreptitiously one-upping all involved - _fun_. And his idea of stopping the escalation was to outdo _everyone_.

“I’m sorry, Prime. I got too focused on the short-term shenanigans and didn’t think everythin’ through. I’ll be tryin’ ta think of ways to keep things from interferin’ where they ain’t supposed to. _And_ find some way to keep some fun goin’ round here.”

Prowl, conversely, sat up straight and proud, doorwings hiked up high. He had correctly predicted what turn the pranks would take, based on prior data and his tactical processing suite's computations. He wasn't particularly _smug_ , no, but he was rather satisfied.

"Prowl, I wish to commend you on your swift actions to prevent further pranks from occurring. Particularly the use of several shipping containers’ worth of styrofoam packing material."

Prowl nodded, pleased at a job well done. He was about to respond, saying it was merely a part of his job description, when he felt a telltale brush of digits over the outside of his thigh plating. He shut down the shiver that threatened to travel up his backstruts. He knew _exactly_ who did it, but studiously ignored them.

"It is my responsibility to oversee issues of discipline on the ship, sir," he said, a little too evenly, even as he tensed his thigh cabling in anticipation -

\- of a touch that never came.

Damn him.

The third order of business was regarding the slow and tedious process of addressing what needed repairs, what they had the resources for, and how to accomplish them. This topic inevitably led to everyone bickering about what to prioritize. Prowl, beyond some of the areas he was directly involved in, was finding it more difficult to concentrate as the conversation dragged on. He rearranged himself in his chair, not wanting to make any overt motions but if that hand wanted to come wandering back, perhaps he _could_ use a little distraction right about -

\- now.

The touch was _not_ where he predicted it to be. There was a finger trailing up the edge of his _doorwing_ and he tried to remain still, he really did, but then there was a little pinch in _just_ the right place and he couldn’t help it.

His doorwings flicked. Just a little.

Prowl tried to cover it up with rearranging himself in his chair yet again, but nobody was going to buy that he was being fidgety for the entire meeting. Not when he was trying to keep a lid on his EM field fluctuations too.

Given the restlessness around the table, and his previous observations of meetings, this hopefully wouldn’t take too long.

Especially not now that his CPU allocation had decided to start shuffling his mental resources away from the meeting and into what he was going to do to the owner of the wandering hands after the meeting.

“...and Prowl will take care of that, correct?” said Optimus.

“Ah. Yes, of course." He would be running simulations for outpost defense.

That was decidedly not the most important thing on his list right now. Instead, he was planning a very different scenario. Once the meeting was adjourned, he would wait inside the conference room for three minutes as everyone else exited, leave via the starboard door, lean against the wall, and wait.

Finally, he got the optic contact he was waiting for, and headed down to the area of the Ark with habitation suites.

He entered the code to his room, sat on the berth - there wasn’t any other seating in the room - and waited.

Soon enough, the door whooshed open and shut once again, and there was a bright field near him in the darkness.

He didn’t speak, just let himself be knocked backwards onto the berth, surrendering completely.

He felt the other mech’s field press up against him first, hot and heavy with desire. Then those hands were on him, over every bit of plating. He burned, the darkness making him bold, as he pulled the other one to him, _in_ him. He screamed, incoherent, but he knew the other mech understood.

They fell into the easy rhythm of recharge.

\---

Prowl woke, some hours later, according to his chronometer. He attempted to rearrange himself on the berth, but that would require disentangling the contented tangle of limbs he found himself within. So he stared at the curves and dips, the aerodynamic lines of sleek white plating instead. At least until he felt the lines in his arm go numb.

He suddenly had an even _more_ clingy berth partner.

“What’s up, beautiful?”

He never got tired of that drawl.

“You were lying on my forearm and pinching an energon line. Again.”

“Hey, that’s my job.”

“No, your job is to keep the younger Autobots from filling the turbolift with Super Balls.”

“And here I was, thinkin’ I was supposed to be a spy, Special Operations or somesuch.”

“You’re good at that too.”

“Ain’t I?”

“You are.”

They lay in silence for a moment. Prowl knew that the rhythmic whoosh of his fuel pump was audible to the mech with his audial on his chest.

“...still. I shouldn’ta gotten involved.”

“It was unfortunately completely within your realm of expertise.”

“Let’s not forget ‘list of things I find too fun to ignore’.”

“I suppose that is also true.” It was.

Prowl had no idea what time it was, as he had banished the display for his internal chronometer. It was better to enjoy this time, rather than attempt to reflexively quantify it.

The mech curled into his side made a small sound, then went quiet for a bit, before speaking again.

“Packin’ peanuts? Really? And Prime _congratulated_ you on it.”

“It _was_ the most tactically sound decision to make. After all, one of the most effective ways of ending a war is to so thoroughly smash the other side such that they are unwilling and incapable of mounting further attacks.”

“In this case you were the surprise contender in the third round. They never saw you comin’.”

“That was the point.”

“Next time they better know who they’re dealin’ with. You might even be able ta convince me to work with ya.”

Prowl smiled softly, and hugged Jazz to him.


End file.
